Avenge the Fallen
by 8belles
Summary: A group of short one pagers inspired by the recent posters of "Avenge the Fallen". Chapters by character. My interpretations, true to MCU characters.
1. Avenge: Sam Wilson

Avenge the Fallen

The room was quiet at first, filled with the slow breathing of those present. It wasn't cold, but a chill enveloped all those sitting in the circle. Someone shifted their weight, the frame of a chair squeaking on the floor, the rustle of shoe soles on the upswept tile of the Veterans Administration center; the stale smell of dust permeating the space as a few lights flickered above reminiscent of lightning.

Steve sat at the head of the circle, if you can say a circle had an origin. His muscular shoulders slumped downward with the still fresh agony of loss even if it had been four years. He only came to this "therapy group" because of Sam. Looking forlornly at the door frame just beyond, he remembered meeting Sam for the first time, listening to the way Sam talked about carrying your troubles.

"We all have baggage." He had sympathized from the podium to the group of veterans assembled before him. "Some of us carry a purse, some of us carry a suitcase of issues and that is ok.: you are carrying it. You are dealing with it."

Heads nodded in agreement.

Steve thought about his baggage. How was he carrying it?

The people around him were not the Avengers. They had been strangers but once a week, they all came here where there was electricity and running water and sometimes, they talked about the loss. Most of the time they talked about how to survive with half the world gone. Those conversations were never easy.

"_I found a new place that has some canned food." a woman offered. _

"_The water main down the street, it's not going any more. I guess the water company shut it off… automatically." a sad looking middle-aged man whispered not wanting to think about piles of dust sitting at controls. _

"_I shot a raccoon in Central Park. I have fresh meat." a younger teen said, somewhat proudly._

"_I buried my neighbor." an ashen faced man said hollowly. _

Steve looked around the circle today. All the regulars were here. He looked at the frame of the door again and saw the ghost of Sam standing there, a gentle smile on his face. He gave a spectral nod that made Rogers wonder if he was going insane.

The lights were harsh on everyone's features and a feeling of agitation permeated the group.

"Steve." a frequent visitor asked.

"Yeah?"

"Where are they? Are there any left besides you?"

Steve opened his mouth then shut it. He swallowed, "Yes."

"Why?" a woman asked, her voice's tone verging on shrill.

"Why what?"

Her eyes were wild in hurt. This happened every once in a while, when the strain of survival made people snap.

Steve dug down to Sam's memory for words but found none. "I dunno. We tried everything. We lost." His jaw muscles flexed in frustration.

The woman began to sob into her hands. Another therapy seeker comforted her with an arm around her shoulder.

A tired elderly man with a short bristly mustache, and wide rimmed glasses looked across from the group and said sadly, "We know, Cap. We know. We are all carrying it with us."

Steve nodded barely and then got up to leave. He had some unfinished business.


	2. Avenge: T'Challa and Shuri

"_Get up! This is no place to die."_

Okoye startled from sleep, her iron grip firm on the force-spear she kept at her side at all times. A prickling of sweat dotted her shaven head and tickled down the back of her neck. Suddenly, she felt cold as she surveyed the gloomy throne room.

Half of her was irritated at her reaction to a simple nightmare, the other half wanted to weep in desperation that any moment T'Challa and Shuri would walk into the room, flanked by the rest of the Dora Milaje. Her eyes wandered to a small cat headed canopic jar that contained Shuri's ashes that sat next to the leg of the throne.

She remained crouched, much like a panther, at the foot of the vacant throne. Her ears trained for the slightest sound but all she heard was her own heartbeat and breathing.

The palace began to automatically illuminate with the dawn. Wakanda having a more advanced power grid that did not shut down when the snap had occurred, continued to hum along unperturbed. The few Wakandans left attempted to keep the jungles and wild at bay but were having a tough time trying to tame the growth with a fraction of their population. For most, it seemed an exercise in futility.

Okoye sat up slowly, feeling aches and pains she had never noticed before and leaned her back against the leg of the throne in the silence that let her mind wander, which seemed to be the only thing she did these days. She wretchedly recalled how after T'Challa's death she was adrift, clinging to one concrete and permanent thought: protect the throne. Closing her eyes and resting her head against the chair while she pondered the memory, she thought it was hard to say who was going to try and take it.

After the snap, night and day, she had stood at attention, not sleeping, not eating and not touching the hallowed throne. The Dora Milaje do not fear, but Okoye was afraid for the first time in her life. She was afraid to close her eyes, lest she sleep and see the horror anew. She stood at attention until a poor surviving soul from housekeeping who had survived found her.

She nearly wept with relief that someone else was alive that she could talk to. The man took her to the kitchens and fed her, told her to rest and held her hand when the nightmares came.

The nightmares were fierce. The Bast statue carved into the mountainside near the palace turned to dust at the snap of Thanos. The screaming of thousands of voices emanating from Shuri's mouth tore at her psyche. T'Challa melted into dust admonishing her this was not a place to perish.

Eventually the night terrors stopped in frequency and intensity, but her sense of duty remained. She was a Dora Milaje. She was a protector of the throne. She did not care if the Avengers went their separate ways, she was not beholden to them.

Sun peaked over the tree tops, streaming into the throne room where motes of dust flickered in the morning light. Okoye, in a different time, once found the way the rays glinted through the glass was beautiful but now she only saw the dust. Her kimoyo beads chimed making her flinch unexpectedly. It had been so long since a message came through the sound was foreign to her.

Lifting her wrist, she saw Black Widow, her face grim in the projected message. "Okoye, we have a plan. We need you."

Okoye looked around the empty space she had been guarding for four years and then down at the jar of Shuri's dust. Her brow furrowed as she felt an awaking of vengeance kindling within her. T'Challa, Shuri and all of Wakanda was going to get justice.

"I am coming."


	3. Avenge: Groot

_The twig looked lifeless, brown and scarred; the ends were frayed wood. How could life ever return from this shard of cellulose? Would he have any recollection of who he had been? Would Groot be… Groot? _

_Rocket stared at it in his leathery paw as smoke swirled around them, the eyes of the Guardians looking sadly at the fragment, feeling half of him was broken, just like this twig. _

"_Groot! Stop acting like such an asshole. You don't even have one of those." Rocket snarled on board the Milano as they streaked across the galaxy in search of their next adventure._

"_I am Groot" the teen Groot whined. _

"_Look- you piece of …" Rocket returned angrily but his tone was tinted with the love of a father. Ever since that twig from the original Groot had sprouted, reached for the light and lived he was grateful, even if this new Groot was not the same as his old wooden partner. Rocket was thankful he wasn't alone in the universe. _

_Groot smiled a cocky half grin, "I am Groot."_

"_I know."_

* * *

"_You really did something there, kid. I'm proud of you." Rocket said as affectionately as he was capable. _

"_I am Groot." A new expression crossed Groot's face; it was the beginnings of realizing there were things beyond himself. _

"_I am sure it hurt. Grabbing hot metal and breaking of your arm isn't something I'd do just any old day."_

"_I am Groot." _

"_Yeah, I know. It was your stronger arm. I am sure Thor will appreciate that handle." _

"_I am Groot."_

"_No, you are not worthy." Rocket laughed, "Not yet."_

_Groot cast him a frown._

* * *

"_I am Groot!" the dust began reducing him to ash. _

"_No. No… no… no, no, Groot!" It was happening again. All over again. The breath was sucked out of him. _

Rocket felt his artificial augmented joints creaking. Banner looked over his shoulder at the raccoon as the survivors convened at the tech room, screens glowing blue as data flashed across them.

"Some people say to move on." Steve said solemnly, "But we don't. We don't"

"I am Groot." Rocket whispered to himself, feeling the fire reignite in his belly.


	4. Avenge: the Hulk

Banner sat staring at his now cold cup of coffee, the bubbles at the rim of the cup like two google eyes casting recriminating looks at him.

_Dammit, not you too_, he thought sourly and looked up at his translucent screens streaming data at him. He looked through them, not at them.

_We could have used you out there_, he cast towards his inner partner.

Nothing stirred.

_I'm just a coward. All brains, no spine. I lied to Cap. I'm not always angry, just a quitter. Just like you, Hulk. A quitter. We're two of a kind. Guess I shouldn't be surprised. _

A greenish wave shrugged in the depths of his consciousness.

_Oh, so now, you want to shrug. Well, buddy, I got news for you. You lived. You and I lived. I don't know why the hell we did, since you and I are pretty much useless dirtbags. You could have done something out there to help. I could have… been more help. _

His thoughts wandered to brilliant young Shuri, who he learned was dust. It was a knife to his heart just the same when he lost a patient at the Indian clinic: an utterly needless loss. Where was Tony? Warm memories of their working in the lab together wove forth into a tapestry of fondness.

_Now half the universe is dead. Maybe… just maybe if you weren't such a pussy, we could have kicked Thanos's ass. _Banner's internal tone was brimstone.

Feeling like distant thunder, a psychological pressure wave rose like a tsunami. Banner felt it coming from the back of his skull, rolling forward with a pressure similar to a sinus headache. He raised a hand to the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes to relieve the ache from Hulk expressing his frustration.

_It's too late, Hulk. It's too late, you son of a bitch. Everyone's dead, _Bruce lashed out.

The Hulk returned to silent, perhaps indifferent or in guilt, Bruce couldn't tell.

The screens continued to stream data but no one was paying attention.


	5. Avenge: Bucky

The porcelain was immaculate, white and gleaming under his palms as he gripped the side of the basin feeling lost. It was also bone chilling cold. _Just like the Army_, _Rogers_, he could hear Bucky's voice chiding him, _cold as a witch's tit in here_.

_Their breath steamed in the morning air after roll call. It was still dark, and only a few small lamps were allowed to illuminate the predawn hours. The European front was frigid in mid-January. "Gonna use that soap before it freezes, or I do?" Bucky asked, his white undershirt was stained from weeks of no running water to do proper wash. Fuel was being spared for only vehicles and the mess hall. Liquid water to wash clothes was low on the priority list and they were lucky to get a tepid bucketful for shaving and basic hygiene. _

_Steve looked at his friend and smiled hesitantly, "I guess you need a shave more than I do, Carey Grant."_

_Bucky smirked as he took the foamy brush from Rogers, "I prefer Humphrey Bogart. And you weren't going to use that anyway. Nothing on your baby cheeks to scrape off, even after the shots!"_

_Steve tried to smile back as he turned to the polished glass. They had been on the Red Skull's tail for weeks now, always winning, but never getting the big prize. Men had been lost; he hadn't seen Peggy in months. He really could use her presence because he missed her dearly. Now winter set in and it was getting hard for everyone on the front, not just the Commandos. Rogers saw himself aging before his eyes and it always shocked him how fast his life was passing by. Would they ever get home to a normal life again?_

"_You ok, Steve?" Bucky broke the silence, his tone subdued. _

_Steve blinked and the looked at Bucky, his eyes dark in concern. _

"_Yeah. Just thinking."_

"_Well we know what happens next."_

"_What?"_

"_You get me in trouble." Barnes started dabbing the foam over his cheeks and chin, carefully filling in his throat. _

"_I think you manage enough trouble for both of us."_

"_Right. Says the man who got himself turned into a science experiment because he thought about being in the Army too much. Remember this conversation when I'm not around, then we'll see how much more trouble you've gotten yourself into. You do whatever it takes to make everything harder, especially on me. Pneumonia, starvation… running off to join the army to name a few." Bucky's tone was light and humorous while keeping his mischievous eye on the mirror as he swiped expertly over his cheeks; the safety razor made a soft scraping sound as he swished it in the bucket of water at his feet. Blobs of white foam floated to the surface, bobbing with each swish._

Steve Rogers looked up at the mirror, and then cut his eyes to the side mounted mirror, his gaze chastising him. "I am in trouble, Buck. So much trouble.", he admitted to the air but holding his own gaze he admitted firmly, "I'm going to do it Buck. Whatever it takes."


	6. Avenge the Fallen: Hawkeye

The dripping blood of his sword mixed with the tropical rainwater falling around him. Garish neon lights flashed ugly on the puddles of blood and water. Bodies lay strewn about like piles of broken toys.

_The roar of the tractor obscured most of the sounds of the early morning. With a contented sigh and the fresh smell of last night's rain, Clint sat upon the old John Deer and drove steadily forward, cutting neat rows into deep soil preparing for the spring sewing. Barton didn't miss Avenging; he was finally at rest with that part of his life. Breath condensing in the cool air; he felt at peace. _

_A feeling hit him unexpectedly, the sky tinted a weird purple then white but there were no thunderstorms in the area. There was a abnormal turn in the wind, a smell of decay that was a counterpoint to the living, clean odor of turned soil. _

_Clint abruptly felt like he should get home. _

"_Laura? Nate?" he yelled loudly from the front yard. Something horrible had just occurred. He knew it. _

"_Cooper!" he bellowed feeling his guts clench in terror. _

"_LILA!" he was screaming now at the threshold of the house. _

_It was absolutely silent. _

_The world tilted, blood rushing in his ears, gulping breaths he saw two piles of what looked like dust in the front room, surrounded by baby toys. Bending down he didn't want to touch the smallest mound of fine grey powder. _

_A sob choked in his throat; a horrible guttural sound. _

_Ripping his eyes away, he dashed up the stairs in huge bounds, the staircase booming with his footsteps in time with his heart. _

_Two more heaps of dust were in Lila and Cooper's room. _

_Stunned, he backed away from their doors, dropping to his knees in the hallway and was utterly silent. _

Natasha saw him there, rain dribbling carelessly down his body like someone who has nothing to live for. The sword was wedged in his elbow as he cleaned the blade.

He heard her, the drops on her umbrella making a distinct pitter patter sound that reminded him of rain on the windowsill at his home, baby Nate gurgling in delight at the water trickling down the glass in shiny rivulets.

Nate. Cooper. Lila. Laura.

Natasha said nothing because words would fail. There were none for the scope of his loss.

Finally, he pivoted on his heel, pulling back his hood and looked at her. Natasha caught her breath. Over her long career, she had seen many things but the pain in his eyes was beyond compare. Rain coursed down his new mohawk haircut, flowing down the shaved sides of his head providing the tears he stopped crying four years ago when he chose this darker path.

Reaching out, she simply took his hand. His fingers twitched, a reminder that they once worked closely together and only she could and would even possibly understand.

Natasha held his gaze and thought deeply there was four more reasons for Thanos to pay.


End file.
